


Little Red Running Hood

by Kytt



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, M/M, Mention of cannon character death, One Shot, Tumblr made me do it, coldflash - Freeform, here be smut, plot what plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kytt/pseuds/Kytt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and talk to a wolf"</p><p>Respectfully dedicated to youreturningscarletscarlet.tumblr.com, with sincere gratitude for their numerous contributions and support of this fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Running Hood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



Do not go into the Woods.

But if you must, do not stray.

And should you stray, bring a gift,

Or else the Wolves will eat you.

***

He had the dream again. Running, Running through the Woods in his bright red Runner’s cloak and something… someone was chasing him. And when they caught up with him, they would -

BANG!

‘Barry, you awake?’ Another loud bang on his door. ‘Barry! C’mon man! It’s past 10 already.’

‘I… I’m awake.’ Moss green eyes squint against the light. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ Barry runs a hand through his hair, cringes inwardly, and contemplates, not for the last time if shaving it off entirely might not be an option. ‘Just… don’t be so… so. Loud.’ Two stumbles, and he unlocks the door.

Cisco is practically vibrating with impatience, as if he’s already had one coffee too many. ‘C’mon! They're gonna run of coffee again if you don’t hurry it up. Coffee man… Coffee!’

Barry’s mouth tastes of… memories and vodka. Shots with Iris had seemed like such a good idea at the time... Coffee wasn't doing it anymore. He thought alcohol might. Since the last Run, since the dreams started, he’s been terrified of falling asleep. Of what waited behind closed his eyes. Of who waited…

‘Barry man, you awake?’ he realizes that Cisco has been talking… saying something.

‘I… ugh ya. I’m just gonna grab a quick shower. I’ve got some coffee in the fridge. It's cold, but y'know, help yourself.’ He offers heading to the shower.

Under the running water he rubs his eyes again, trying to rid himself of the last bit of grit and dream. Not that the dreams are all bad. Just… just confusing. He’s in the Woods, on a Run, being chased by something. No, by someone. He can almost… remember. Eyes…. Eyes like a frozen, bottomless lake, and a voice like nails on his skin making lewd promises.

Barry groans, slamming his back against the tile. Cold showers aren't doing anymore than the coffee is. He's hard and aching over a gossamer memories of a half-forgotten dream. A voice and a pair of faceless eyes to go along with it. A whisper and the hint of a kiss on skin, teeth at his throat... and... He wraps his hand around his cock, already weeping with precum, imagining... trying to remember a different hand. A stronger, colder hand and that voice... whispering… Red…

‘BARRY!’ Cisco bangs at the bathroom door. ‘Dude, if you didn’t want to go out today, why the hell didn’t you say so – ‘

‘I’m coming! I’m coming!’ he answers truthfully, slamming his free hand against the tile, hard enough to bruise, proud that his voice doesn’t crack, the last, fragile remnants of the dream gone, washed down the drain with his semen.

‘Coffee. Lets go.’

‘Hey Barry, Cisco,’ Iris, bright-eyed and sparkly, ever demanding and receiving of attention expected as due.

‘Hey Iris,’ Barry mutters, rubbing his hand through his hair again, messing it further. Iris has always been just this shade of loud, and ever since Eddie failed to come home from a Run, her voice began to carry a faint edge of hysteria. Laughing too hard. Partying too hard. Not that Barry would blame her. Or Eddie for wanting to marry the girl he’d been in love with since… since for-ever. The girl raised alongside him as a sister. Except that she wasn’t his sister, and he’d never thought of her as his sister, but everyone just generally assumed , and his head hurt all too much to think about this now.

‘What’s with him?’ Iris asks Cisco, with a perfect smile directed at Barry.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Cisco shrugged. ‘He’s been mopey all morning.’

‘I am not mopey!’ Barry responded and regretted it immediately.

‘Awwww… Barry… what is it? Love life down the drain again?’

Teeth at his throat and hands on his hips, and a growl in his ear whispering … promising… Red.

‘No… it’s fine. It’s… fine. I... I just didn’t sleep well.’

Iris frowns, briefly concerned. It’s what he’s always loved about her – no matter what she may be going through, she’d always make time, make room for him in her life. No less than a sister would do for her brother… ‘Is it the dreams again?’

He remembers and instantly regrets telling her. Another reason to not do shots with Iris.

‘Yes… no. It’s… I don’t know. I need some air.’ He stands, pushing away from the table, almost but not quite spilling the latest brew passing for ‘coffee’. ‘I’ll be back.’

He storms out, ignoring the looks of concern his friends shoot at his back.

The moment Barry sets foot outside he regrets wearing nothing but his ever-present Runner’s cloak over his shirt. The air is brisk, still chill in spite of the of the fragrant promise of spring carried over on the morning breeze. Briefly, he considers returning to the bar, but that would involve more questions and anxious glances, half-hidden behind friendly taunts. They are his friends. His family. They have a right to be concerned, but it’s not as if they can help. It’s not as if anyone can help. They say that eventually all Runners go mad from the stress of being in the Woods, but he's not mad. Not crazy. The Woods have always felt... safe to him. And besides, they’re dreams. Just dreams. Maybe Cisco is right and all he needs is to get laid. There was that blonde Iris had introduced him to not long ago. Maybe he’d call her again. Her eyes were blue. Warm, like the sky after a summer rain… Beautiful. So why was it each time he looked at her the eyes he saw were cold. Faceted like the face of a lake, shattered by frost. Eyes he could drown in. He’ll go for a Run. A good Run always clears his head. Iris and Cisco will just have to get on without him for a few hours. 

His red cloak gets him outside without question or warning from the gate guard. He sets off at a light jog down the path.

The Woods are warm. Oddly warmer than the city, even with weak April sun barely making it through the thick canopy. The faint sounds of birds keep him company, the only sound other than his booted footsteps falling on the path in perfect counter-point to his heart .

It's not long before he feels something... someone following him, trailing him between the trees. He can’t catch them from the corner of his eye, but they're there. He can feel them. He can hear them in the sudden silence of the birds. Taste it on the chill air, like some unidentified, alien spice.

Barry picks up speed, trees blurring as he runs past, wind rushing in his ears. He runs until he can run no more, breath coming quickly in sharp, jagged gasps, blood pounding in his ears. He collapses, right there beside the path, back against a tree, waiting.

Nothing.

‘Well?!’ he yells. ‘Here I am! Are you coming? I can hear you dammit!’ he lies. ‘Come on!’

His only response is the scattered fluttering of birds flying to higher branches, and the still, expectant silence of a breathless forest.

At some point he sleeps. Lulled into a false sense of security by the path he knows like the back of his hand. Exhausted from a week of restless, sleep-deprived nights, Runs on too little rest and the deceptive peace of a silent forest.

…Red… Little Runner… Voice like the scrape of a blade and winter blue eyes. Don’t you know the old stories, Red? Don’t go into the Woods, but if you must, don’t leave the path, and if you do, bring a gift for the Wolves. Did they ever tell you why the Runners wear red cloaks? It’s for the blood and the sacrifice. Are you my gift, Red? Sharp teeth at his throat and too slow hands on his collarbone, and unhurried, lazy caresses. Eyes squinted shut, afraid that if he opens them, he’ll wake. For once he does not want the dream to be over. 

What shall I do with you, Red?

Lips and teeth and tongue tracing lazy paths down his throat, and hands in his hair harshly tugging his head back until the breath catches in his throat. Arched back, impossibly far, he moans, wordlessly offering himself to the roaming hands, the sharp teeth, ragged breath torn from a tortured throat, moaning against wet slowness of the teasing mouth, hands clenching with need at his sides, reaching for the warm weight settling on his thighs. Shall I eat you now? Shall I take you apart and tear into the bleeding heart of you? Shall I leave your white bones on your red cloak for your people to find? Shall I keep you for myself, Red?

Anything, Barry thinks. Everything... He thinks he whispers… Please... please… 

A gasp, startled, unexpected on his skin, and a sharp nip at the junction of neck and shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, not quite hard enough to break skin. A hand on his hip, mooring, holding him down when he thinks he might float away, the second on his wrists, keeping them easily against the rough bark of the tree, and Barry's vain attempts to reach out and touch. 

A breath like the last breeze of winter on his hip, and a smile... a smirk - oh that mouth! - against his cock and without preamble that mouth, that hot glorious, dangerous, sharp mouth swallows him whole.

Shall I eat you now?

The world turns snow-blind white. Barry tries and can't quite... breaths, harsh and ragged catch in his throat. He wants to speak, not sure of what he would say if he could. His head tilts back far, held only by the living wall of the tree , back arching like the pale curve of the moon and it’s all he can to keep himself together while he’s being taken apart – Shall I take you apart, Red? - mouth hotter than it has any right to be, a tongue like coarse silk twisting its up the length of his cock, cold hands slipping between his legs, down the crack of his ass, and slick fingers lightly playing, teasing over his asshole. Barry hears a whine, pleading begging... more... please... realizing it’s him and not caring twisting, arching his back, wanting wanting...

One finger, two slip inside, cold... so cold and he gasps, trying to move, aching for more... more... trapped between the hands and mouth, undone and breathless... and oh… he’d always thought that seeing stars was just an expression, but there are blue stars behind his lids, and his skin feels too tight, ready to crack, splinter into a million pieces - Shall I leave your white bones on your red cloak - and he thinks that maybe this is what a heart attack feels like, and wouldn’t that be the irony to end all ironies a Runner dying in the Woods, in his sleep. And it might almost be worth it.

Two fingers... and a third... and he's coming, coming, emptying down that hot, welcoming throat, screaming raw and coarse, an animal's cry in the Woods mocking silence. 

Shall I take you apart and eat the bleeding heart of you? 

Hands... coarse, like his scream. Like the bark of the tree he is lying against, brushing the hair from his face. Kisses sweet and gentle against his throat, on his jaw. It's the gentleness that undoes him. There are tears, unexpected, unwanted pouring down his face, a floodgate finally opening in the back of his mind, tears for Iris and Eddie, and the blonde waiting for the call he’ll never make, all of them who are trapped, hiding in the cities that have become both shelter and prison in the Woods.

Eyes still squeezed shut, afraid of what he might see. More afraid of what he might not. Hands reaching, grasping, the lean curve of a smooth shoulder, skin like silk over corded muscle, the cool, sleek line of neck and clean jaw, fingers splayed on a face, and if he were truly blind, he would know, he could see, but all he can do now is pull that face down for a kiss. Long and lingering, as if there is all the time in the world.

Please... 

What do you want, Red? Voice like ancient glaciers over ice. 

Everything… Barry gasps, a half-sob still catching in his throat. Please. I want everything. 

Lips crushed with a sound half growl half whimper and all desperate, bestial want, teeth, tongue, lips, invading, biting, claiming...

His mouth is released, hands on his back, shifting moving, he feels grass, soft and firm beneath him, tender kisses marking a familiar path down his jaw, down his throat, fingers trailing down his chest, down his hips, between his legs, and fingers again, slick and chill slipping gently inside him and he lifts his hips, wanton with need and expectation. Desperate for more...

A third finger and he doesn’t think he can take anymore, and his skin is on fire for all that he’s slick with sweat and he reaches... reaches, fingers finally... finally touching trembling skin like smoothest silk over whipcord muscle, trembling with barely suppressed restraint. Barry shifts, hips canted, asking, begging wordlessly

…Are you my gift, Red?...

A sob, escaping as the fingers slip out and he’s whimpering at the loss, cool hand splayed against his overheated back, lifting him further, and that glorious, sensual, hot mouth is claiming him, ravaging him, tongue running up the roof of his mouth, and sharp teeth at his bottom lip drawing blood, and he can feel a cock against his ass, thick and heavy, and oh so warm, and he whines with need, wordlessly low in his throat, and then stretch and full... oh so full...

And they are moving. Perfectly. Effortlessly, instinctively finding a rhythm as if they've been doing this for decades. One hand is on his back, the other wrapped tight against around his half-hard cock, moving to their rhythm, and is Barry clutching slick, smooth shoulders like an anchor, keeping himself there in the now, in the dream that's so... so real... it must be real... pulling the other down for a kiss, and he can feel the answering moan vibrate down to his core feels the other shudder, and freeze above him, his own cock, spent, twitches valiantly in response and … and he opens his eyes and

Its late afternoon, and he’s cramped, and tangled, back against a tree and sap in his hair. 

Barry stands, swallowing hard, brushing off his pants, warm, in spite of the chill air, glancing about, around him the forest is empty, silent but for the echo of a dream and the sound of birds.

‘Dude! What happened to you? We were waiting half the morning. And what happened to your lip?’

Barry runs a hand over his lip, bitten through in a dream. ‘I… ugh went for a run. Tripped. Split it open.. it was kinda messy and I didn’t want Iris to see. You know how she gets.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. C’mon. Let me buy you a shot to make it up to you.’

Cisco looks dubious. ‘Yaaaa… I suppose. You really ought to take a shot you know. Now that Eddie’s gone?’ Cisco says not unkindly. Runners die. It’s a fact of life. ‘Girl like that won’t be single forever.’

Barry chuckles. ‘Ya… sure.’ He agrees, knowing the eyes in his dreams will be icy blue and not warm honey brown.

Harrison’s is busy by the time Barry and Cisco get there. Perched on a bar-stool in the centre of the bar, Iris is holding court to a bevy of hopeful admirers, laughing with well-practiced, false sincerity over something one of them said.

‘Oh hey boys! I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to introduce you to my new friend’ she gestures to a man standing at her side, near invisible in the shadows of the bar. ‘He’s just got into town. Where did you say you were from again?’

‘Somewhere else,’ voice like the scrape of a blade, like teeth at his throat

Shall I keep you for myself, Red?

‘Ugh… hello,’ he steps forward, hand extended 

… drowns in eyes the colour of a shattered, winter lake as the man turns.

‘Hello Red.’

**Author's Note:**

> So some time ago, I came across this amazing collage on Tumblr - http://youreturningscarletscarlet.tumblr.com/post/140318088661/the-poor-child-who-did-not-know-that-it-was - and hoped and and hoped that someone would write a fairytaleish AU for it. Aaaand... no one I came across did. So I did. Eventually. 
> 
> It did not, as such things go, turn out as I had hoped. It is not, a fairytale by any means, not even if you squint. But it does involve a forest. And a Wolf. And a red cloak. And maybe it will inspire someone to write the story I really wanted.
> 
> This version has been slightly edited from the original tumblr posting. Because I could.
> 
> Deepest thanks to DreamDictator for reading the original mess.


End file.
